


wipe the dust from your sweet smile

by theprincessed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bus Crash, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OT5 Friendship, mostly just Harry being a young worrywort, tiniest hint of Harry/Louis if you wish to squint and see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessed/pseuds/theprincessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis comes off the worst in a tourbus crash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wipe the dust from your sweet smile

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too lazy to find sources as I post this impulsively and unplanned at silly o'clock, but basically in January 2012, 1D's tourbus was involved in a really, really minor bump on the road. For some reason, I couldn't get the idea out of my head (I do like poking and prodding my favourite/otp sometimes) so I wrote this. Sorry? Enjoy? Yay hurt/comfort?
> 
> Originally posted 7 January 2012.

It comes out of nowhere, as many things do, as life does. One minute – no, _second_ – the tourbus is a quiet hum underneath everybody’s feet as it trundles along the motorway between two destinations and the next, there’s a screech and a high-pitched squeal of brakes before the shock of an impact that nobody expected to arrive. The loud shatter and spray of glass, the crunch of metal and the surprised shouts of everyone on board rattles Harry’s thoughts around in his head as he remembers the state of play beforehand. He had been sitting on one of the couches, in the seat quite near the doorway as Louis had only just left his side to shuffle into the small kitchenette for some tea. Everyone probably thought he was going to be the rebel, show some rock ‘n’ roll, but really he was so extraordinarily happy with a mug of tea sometimes that even Harry had to laugh a little in disbelief. Liam and Zayn had been having a tussle on the Xbox with another countless round of Fifa (Liam was losing...again) and, as far as Harry was aware, Niall was in his bunk, probably catching up on sleep to make the journey time go that much quicker.

Except now Harry sees none of this before his eyes. For one, they’re closed and he warily, groggily, blinks them open because he doesn’t remember shutting them. Obviously, it had been a natural reaction upon the split-second realisation of what was happening and although even with his sight restored it seems like he can’t see a thing, he can definitely hear. Apart from the slightly distant beeps and engine growls of vehicles he guesses are behind the bus, to his ears it feels like everything is silent for a moment before it all comes rushing in at once. Starting from him, he can feel the thudding of his heartbeat and hear his breathing and then growing outwards to pick up the intermittent creak of metal. Physically from his position, Harry is lying face down on the seat as he was thrown onto the floor from the skidding lurch and then rolled back onto the couch as the bus careened onto its side. At least it’s soft and familiar underneath his hands and he slowly sits up. He coughs, the darkening evening air foggy with something unidentifiable but so like thick smoke he can hardly see through it. Everything had turned into dull black or grey shapes and it feels like his throat is closing up, but mostly in fear and the worst of it is that he can’t seem to find enough voice to call out.

Waiting a moment or two to make sure that the bus won’t move from an aftershock or his previously prone body will upset the balance somehow, Harry’s heartbeat picks up again when he realises that aside from a sore spot here and there, he isn’t hurt and if he isn’t hurt then what if someone else is and why haven’t the others said anything yet? Of course, they could be suffering the same as him, a strange kind of paralysis because of events but he knows that’s probably unlikely, someone around here must be...

Harry swallows and his jaw clenches as he stubbornly changes his train of thought and decides to kick into action. Maybe he can help, if anyone needs it. Without thinking, he awkwardly crawls along the couch and then out the doorway, momentarily forgetting about whomever else is or was in there with him. It’s like a case of tunnel vision and suddenly all he can see – all he really wants to see – is Louis and it quickly becomes imperative to find him. Disorientated by the shift in the environment and with the beginnings of a headache settling in, Harry feels along the ‘floor’ of the bus with careful palms and tries to avoid flyaway cutlery that must have spilled out of the little drawers and off the counter in the kitchenette when the world turned on its side. He pets and crawls until his knee hits something warm and solid and he has to scoot back to properly investigate. His heart leaps and then skids down to his stomach when the relief of finding Louis is suddenly replaced by more anxiety. Blood pumps in his ears as he squints at Louis’ form, which is slumped against the mini fridge. A hiss of noise takes his gaze away for a second and he knows he doesn’t even want to think about what that means, so he puts a hand to Louis’ shoulder to pull him gently towards him. He expects Louis to groan and say something and has a double whammy of shock when there’s simply silence and Louis’ body rolls over so easily that Harry tips backwards and hugs his knees to his chest in reflex. He questions again why that didn’t immediately create a response from his best friend as the panic starts to well up inside him like a burgeoning tsunami. He knows something is terribly wrong about this scene, but feels like he’s skirting around the edges and can’t quite knit together the whole picture. Maybe the crash did effect him more than he initially thought, but he can’t think about that now when all he wants is for someone to shout out or Louis to _say something_. 

Gingerly, Harry feels around in the near dark for Louis again, clutching his arm like a lifeline when he finds it. He uses his grip to move steadily upwards to perhaps try and work out how to fix this, how to fix Louis so he’s not so terrifyingly quiet. Harry’s fingers walk to his neck and he shimmies closer to see if he can get a better look at what he’s doing. Still, his hands do the majority of the work for him and he definitely feels it before his eyes have a chance to spot it. He retracts his fingers and they come away wet and slightly sticky. In this dim light, it looks black too, but Harry knows exactly what it is with a squeezing kind of horror and he automatically continues to feel up to Louis’ face where his cheekbone is lightly scratched. It’s into his hairline that’s the kicker and Harry feels his heart travel through his body, up and down like a yo-yo, like it has no clue where to settle. Louis’ usually soft hair feels matted and Harry gives up with a violent jerk when trying to gauge how far back the clumping reaches because it feels _too far_ with every inch. 

“Lou?” comes out of his mouth before he’s entirely ready for it, like he hadn’t realised he could speak and it’s quickly followed with a questioning sob when there’s no reply.

He shakes Louis’ shoulder, forgetting about the blood on his hand, and calls his name louder. He hears a voice, but it’s not Louis’. It’s calm and even and coming from behind him.

“Harry, what is it?” Liam asks as he comes near and before he’s registered exactly what Harry is staring at, unseeing. He must look down because Harry’s aware of eyes quickly flicking back up to the side of his face. “Shit. Harry, what do you know?”

Harry looks down at his bloodied hand then at Liam on his haunches beside him, eyes wide, as he shows him his shaky palm. However, before Liam can utter a word, Harry hovers over Louis and begins to shake him, this time with fervour. A hand slaps him quickly away though.

“Don’t!” Liam admonishes firmly, trying to wedge some part of him between Harry’s hands and Louis’ body, “He might be - ”

Harry doesn’t rationally hear the rest of the sentence, instead choosing to stare at Liam and the need to grind his teeth and lips together rises as tears well up in his eyes. His curls, smelling of smoke and desperation, bob and flop forward. “No – not that – don’t say – ”

“ – Concussed.”

“Oh.” 

Harry breathes out noisily because he feared the worst (his hand still feels alien and like treacle) and thought Liam was too, but it’s replaced with relieved embarrassment that probably would remind Liam that he is the youngest and so subconsciously wrapped up in the world of the boy lying in front of them. Harry watches on, dumbstruck and trembling with uselessness, as Liam half shrugs with _why not_ and gently presses two fingers to the inside of Louis’ slender wrist to check his pulse and then hunches over so the side of his face is close to Louis’ slightly parted mouth to feel the light whisper of breath and shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“I think the impact just knocked him out.” he guesses as Harry tries to make his gaze steer clear of the smear of blood on the handle of the mini fridge. He winces every time. “His pulse is still strong. Feel it.”

Then Liam calls for Zayn and Niall, obviously having a plan in mind now that he tiptoes around the idea that its safe for Louis. Earlier, Niall was definitely in his bunk further down and Zayn was playing games with Liam so he can’t that be far behind in this misshapen chaos. Harry keeps hold of Louis’ hand, knuckles close to his chest and lips whenever he nuzzles into it so that unshed tears streak across his friend’s skin. He can feel them brimming all the time and is surprised they haven’t already overflowed, but he’s got more hope now and that placates the urge. His eyes are always on Louis, just to hold him in that mindset of _everything will be fine_ until he gets a little frown on his face as a random thought pops into his head that he accidentally says out loud.

“He’s gonna be really pissed off about his hair.”

Liam snorts weakly before coughing himself and Harry’s smile is watery at the edges, but at least sunshine has returned.

“It’s the least of his worries. Come on,” Liam prods, looking into the horizon of down the side of the bus, “we need to get him out of here. Just in case something happens.” Harry’s eyes widen like he’s thrown back into the shock of it all, but Liam must notice him stiffen in fright because he clasps his shoulder and rubs a hand against his collarbone. “Hey, relax. I just meant to be on the safe side that’s all. We should sit on the grass outside. Think you can carry him?”

Harry nods quickly because he wasn’t planning on letting Louis go any time soon anyway.

They shuffle along the carcass of the bus in slow, careful movements with Zayn bringing up the rear and Louis cradled in Harry’s arms. He becomes extra aware of everything around him and tries his best not to overbalance with the need to get there as he eventually sees the light at the end of the tunnel. If this was daytime, it probably would be a light within the darkness as the three of them get closer to the busted, narrowed hole that was once one part of the doors. Harry sees eyes that are so blue and Niall looks so familiar and comforting and open that he nearly bursts into tears right there. Instead, again mindful of Louis’ situation, he swallows them down and his gaze takes in the way Niall is limping as he steps out of way for the three of them to squeeze through. Harry hears Zayn and Liam talking behind him and is thankful that they’re all alive and awake. Well, almost all.

Niall helps him with Louis now that it’s a bit of an awkward fit and he stumbles back and half drags their friend’s legs out as Harry clings to him with arms locked underneath his armpits and trying not to damage him anymore than he already is. Harry has wished in the past that he didn’t have such a strong will about him sometimes, that he wasn’t such a hurricane to be around, but now that he is malleable (if heavy) he knows with a deep intensity that he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Is he okay?”

Harry concentrates as he puts his hands below Louis’ knees again and staggers to his feet to pick him up properly, his muscles protesting. “Liam thinks the crash knocked him out.”

“Oh. Good.” Harry watches as Niall blinks at Louis’ face, half covered with blood like a mask because the wound somewhere around his hairline is still weeping, then up to find Harry’s eyes, “I mean – not good! Just. Good its only that.”

Harry closes the small gap between them and leans in to press the side of his face to Niall’s hair, Louis between them. “I was so scared.” he whispers, his heart pounding against Louis’ cheek. “Still am, but. Everything’s going to be fine. We should sit over there.” he directs just in case Niall hadn’t heard Liam from his position then smiles a little, a quirk of lips, “I know I can carry him, but Jesus, he’s starting to do my back in!”

“You and your back.” Niall giggles quietly as they walk side by side with the other two ushering them forward.

Harry looks down at Louis, limp and probably, obviously, the quietest he’s seen him (except when he's really, really nervous to the point where he moves away from fidgeting and goes into shutdown mode), but knowing he's worth every ache and pain.

The four of them sit on the grassy knoll and, although they each offer through the wait, Harry keeps Louis in his lap, stroking the clean side of his face as if he's awake and it will soothe him. It’s almost absent-minded because he's still involved in the small talk with the others and their driver when he gets back from ringing for help. It seems silly to talk about anything, but it’s like they feel compelled to. Its either that or staring at the wreck not far away, the only small mercy being that the hissing Harry heard hasn't turned into anything like dripping petrol and a fire or explosion. 

When the seconds seem to tick by awfully slow, he presses his mouth gently and quickly to Louis' forehead, croaking, "Wake up, you idiot. You're the only one sleeping on the job! _Please_ , Lou."

His voice cracks at the same time as he is surprised to feel Zayn's knee nudge into his. He must have buried his face close in to the untouched patches of Louis’ hair and not realised because he has to look up and beside to his other friend. 

"It’s a bang to the head." he says, nudging him again as his way of comforting without being over the top and gushy, "Give him time. He fancied being a slowcoach for once." 

Harry snorts and sends Zayn a look that says deep down _I know, I know you're probably right_ and _thank you_.

Still, when the police, fire brigade and ambulance all descend on the scene, part of Harry is reluctant to let go of Louis. All this time he’s been trusted to make sure he’s okay, to spot any changes, and now they want him to leave? It feels like his heart is connected on an invisible string to Louis’ and even the wound to his head, like if he lets go the blood will run more freely and never stop until he’s in his arms again. His eyes widen and blur as he stares up at the paramedics and he knows it’s for the best and of utmost importance, but try telling his limbs that. Eventually, Zayn’s hand is a steady, calming pressure on his forearm and Harry releases. The professionals prise unconscious Louis out of his grip like they’re in slow motion and handling a precious doll and Harry distantly thinks that he and the boys - when normality has returned - will probably have a field day trying to convince Louis that all manner of crazy things happened whilst he was out cold. 

He keeps watch as they treat Louis on the grass at the roadside for a few moments, assessing the risks and action to take and whether Liam’s calculated guess was right. Harry only feels himself look away as someone puts an oxygen mask over Louis’ mouth and nose just as insurance. Maybe it’s strange how it’s that which breaks his determination to not let Louis out of his sight, but he looks so lifeless and fragile that Harry wants to stop walking on eggshells, stride over and shake him back to how he was. But looking to his left he sees Niall as he answers questions from paramedics on the state of his leg before feeling two arms come over his shoulders from behind. Liam tucks his face close to his nape and Zayn’s arm overlaps onto Liam as Harry leans back into the embrace and tries to breathe, deep and even. He knows they’ve escaped what could’ve been a far worse disaster.

\-----

The next morning and after the three boys were sent home for some rest (Niall went hours earlier, doctor's orders although his injury was largely muscular and the soreness making him limp), they arrive at the hospital expecting to find Louis how they sadly left him. A bit less bloody but still out for the count.

So they get a shock that's of great celebration when they're actually walk into the room and are greeted with Louis awake and reclining on a generous stack of pillows. He points a remote at the TV and Zayn raises an eyebrow. Louis winces.

"Can't watch it anyway. I feel like I've got the shittiest hangover in the history of hangovers." he fiddles with the end of the bandage taped around his hairline because he obviously can’t get to his hair then smiles his first smile since yesterday evening, as if realising he forgot the most important bit. “Heyyyyy, lads!” he crows, arms out towards them.

Zayn and Liam and a sore Niall (he wasn't going to miss visiting his friend and its lucky he didn't) all have some versions of rolling their eyes or fond shakes of the head, but Harry internally whizzes right past amused and barrels over to the bed, using Louis' arms as an invitation to cling to rather than a joke. Louis sounds like he has the wind knocked out of him, but he chuckles soon after and runs an awkward hand through Harry's curls, mindful of the IV drip. "Aw Haz, what's got into you?"

"Just let me have this moment, will you?" he answers back in a muffled voice when he is a little more composed, his nose buried into the side of Louis' neck and he can feel the vibrations as he laughs again. 

"Okay, okay. It’s a good thing I like a cuddle then, isn't it?" 

Harry murmurs but Louis' not sure he's even listening and smiles over the top of his head to the others as they come and sit down.

They know Louis' going to be absolutely fine (and maybe buried underneath his hair have a wicked scar - "They said the blood was shooting out of me like gore in a horror film!" "No they didn't, Lou. We were there and you were unconscious!") when the bandages are added to until his whole face and part of his shoulders (Harry helped) are swathed and he's got his arms out in front of him as he screeches from the bed, "I'm a mummy! FEAR ME!" Liam and Zayn simply look at each other, Niall nearly falls backwards out of the chair from cackling and Harry just knows one thing that he’s supremely glad for...

Even a knock to the head can't keep Louis down for long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, munchkins x
> 
> Find me on Tumblr for a chat if you like at [theprincessed](http://www.theprincessed.tumblr.com). Zero drama and I don't bite. Well...:)


End file.
